Remembered By One - Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Propped awkwardly against
the headboard, Randy stared, open-mouthed at the door.

Mason kissed him.

Actually fucking kissed him. On the mouth. Only lasted
two seconds, but who’d be stupid enough to complain? Not him, that’s for sure. What
made it special was that Mason had done it without a dare or threat to send him
into action.

Score!

But what the hell should
he do now? Ninety-nine percent of him wanted to go after Mason and finish what
they’d started back at the shop, and continued minutes ago in this bed. For
some messed-up reason, it had long been ingrained in his primal monkey-brain that
if Mason ran, he chased. Hunting Mason had always made for good sport.

The sexual aspect added
an entirely new level to the game. Randy’s dick lay hard and heavy against his
thigh. Both heads, big and little, throbbed, and for the same reason. Sexual
frustration. Or maybe his boner had siphoned all the blood from his brain, who
the fuck knew? His skin felt tight, barely able to contain the twin storms of desire
and need gathering up steam to blow.

Mason kissed him. How many years had he dreamed of
that impossibility?

Twenty.

Twenty fucking years! At
least.

Under the hot, cumbersome
cast, the bones in his forearm ached as they knit themselves back together. The
itch was driving him insane. His arm felt weird, almost as if the bones had
begun rejecting the metal, and any second the screws would pop right out and
rip holes through the sewn-up skin. He let go of the bed frame and relaxed his
fingers. Ah—no wonder it hurt. The pain subsided, going from screaming agony to
bearable throb almost instantly. He tightened his grip with his other hand and clung
desperately, because if he let go, he would
chase after Mason and that would destroy whatever was left of their friendship.

Fuck it. He wanted to
chase him anyway.

He’d never considered for
one second in those twenty years of lonesome nights that he might stand a
chance with Mason. Because, come on, he
made a piss-poor living as a mechanic and Mason was a genius or something.
Smart as fuck at any rate, and from a well off family with connections, even if
his dad had turned into a worthless prick. Not to mention, Mase was fucking gorgeous
and could have his pick of men. What did Randy have to offer besides grease on
his clothes and dirt under his nails?

Not a goddamn thing.

Except loyalty. Was
loyalty worth anything nowadays? Or was Randy naïve and old-fashioned?

Unlike that man-whore
Mason had been living with—no secret there as to what happened to split them up—Randy
would never step out on Mase. Why go out for hamburger when you had prime rib
at home? Given the chance, he’d worship the fucking ground Mason walked on.

So what else did he have?

A good work ethic? Ha—another
trait not worth shit. Mason, with his fancy pants degrees, made fat stacks and
didn’t need anyone else’s puny paycheck to get by.

His body?

Fuck. Randy sighed. He
was doomed. His size, the tattoos and those goddamn ringlets would be a big,
fat strike against him. Did Mason find him repulsive? It hadn’t seemed like it yesterday
when Mason had shoved his tongue in his mouth, but compared to the guys had Mason
dated, slept with and lived with, he must seem like a big, clumsy ogre with
barely two brain cells to rub together.

Mason already had his
heart and didn’t want it, so what was left?

Not a damned thing.

It was hopeless. But hope
springs eternal, right? Or some dumb poetic shit like that. He’d spent twenty
years trying to kill that hope, but it was a tough bastard and he hadn’t
managed to beat it to death yet.

Wouldn’t be succeeding anytime
soon either, no matter how many worthless men Mason went through without giving
Randy a second thought.

But like that first time
he fought back, really fought back
when the old man was giving him a shit-kicking for no reason except he liked it,
sometimes you just had to risk it all or die inside.

Before reason talked him
out of it, Randy let go of the headboard, threw back the sheet and leapt off
the bed. Then stopped dead. Damn it. He had no clothes, except jeans and a
shirt. Chasing after Mason naked, horny and sporting a huge hard-on probably
wasn’t a good idea, right? He’d look like a rapist. Snatching his jeans from
the chair by the door, he stepped in, yanked them up one-handed and tried to
zip them over his engorged cock.

No go. Fuck, really? The
job needed two hands and he only had one. He worked the zipper up enough to
keep the beast caged, but gave up on fastening the button.

Besides, Mason seeing his
dick, and hopefully touching it, was the whole point of this risky plan anyway.

And if Mason didn’t like
it—him—he could just kick him out and that would be the end of that.

Mason had moved into his
parents’ old bedroom. The lights were out, but Mason had left the door cracked
open about six inches. A good sign. He’d felt secure enough not to lock it
against potentially invading, horny neighbors. Taking a deep breath, Randy
pushed the door open all the way. Boxes and clothes were spread around the
room. The mattress sat directly on the floor, empty, all the sheets rumpled.
Weak sunlight silhouetted Mason’s long, lean body as he leaned against the
glass and stared out at the overgrown flower garden below.

Sensing Randy’s presence,
he turned, then straightened.

Randy reached up and grasped
the door casings on either side and held on. A tendon in his broken arm
complained with a painful twinge, but sometimes pain had it uses. Like keeping
lust in check.

Okay, maybe a bit of a
dummy. Or sidestepping the question, like he was so fucking practised at. “It’s
simple, Mase. One word. Yes, or no.”

That finally got all of
his attention. Mason stared back at him. He licked his lips and shifted from
foot to foot, a familiar nervous twitch Randy had seen a thousand times before.
The light caressed the side of his face and highlighted his amazing cheekbones.
Who would cheat on a guy who looked like that? Mason had only grown more
beautiful with age. Not that looks made up the bare bones of a relationship or anything.
Well, for all he knew. He’d never had a real relationship.

Randy waited.

Time crawled. The throb
in his arm faded into the background. Breathing suddenly seemed difficult, a
chore he had to remind himself to do. In-out, in-out, come on, keep it going. Rapidly
changing expressions flickered across Mason’s face, and Randy couldn’t tear his
eyes from watching Mason think things over even if he wanted to.

Indecision flickered the
most—but that was Mason to a tee—and then his expression promptly slid into one
of doubt. Interest flashed a time or two—yeah he was considering it. Then a
moment of…fear? After the fear, for a precious few seconds, Mason’s eyes slid
over Randy’s body with something akin to desire.

Please, yes, want me back…

But Mason would say no.
Of course he would. Randy slid his hands down the casing and his healing bones
screamed in protest.

Pain was good. Pain he understood.
Having feelings was what killed you.

He couldn’t turn away,
though. Not yet. In case he never got to see Mason’s face again up close, he
wanted to let his eyes drink their fill. If he just ruined everything and stolen
glimpses in Target would be all he got from now on, he’d damn well top-off the
tank.

Would Nat ever forgive
him?

Ginny?

Mason heaved in a breath,
and knotted the hem of his sleep-creased shirt in his fist. His mouth opened
slightly, then paused, hanging on an unspoken word.

The word no.

Although Randy knew all
along that would be the answer, the hurt under his sternum radiated outward,
spreading to every limb, like white-hot welding sparks skittering along the
floor. The shock of how much it hurt ripped his next ragged breath right out of
his throat and replaced it with a hot lump of burning coal. Fuck. The rejection
stung worse than that time when he was ten and the latest round of his father’s
fists resulted in badly broken bones. That night had broken something inside
him, as well. His ability to trust.

But flesh could take a
lot more beatings than the heart could. He knew that. Randy closed his eyes.

The chest pain didn’t
subside, it simply twisted into excitement. The excitement fed an unsatisfied
hunger twenty years in the making. But he didn’t pounce. He walked. Mason
didn’t meet him half way, but that was okay. He looked kind of scared. Did he
think Randy would hurt him? Because, never.
Yeah, Randy would admit to being aggressive. He’d always been, but he’d never
hurt Mason in the past and wouldn’t now.

Randy stopped in front of
Mason and read his eyes—Mason had such expressive eyes and they could tell no
lies. That yes lived there too.

Before he kissed Mase
like he desperately wanted to, he pried Mason’s fingers from the mangling grip
he had on his worn t-shirt. He hooked their fingers together and pulled. Mason gasped
and trembled a little, but he let Randy lead him toward the mattress.

Truthfully, he was kind
of scared himself. What if he didn’t do this right?

No. That was his dad
talking, forever poisoning every good thing. He’d done that kiss in the shop right,
hadn’t he?

Yes. Mason had gotten
into it as much as him.

He just need to go slow.
He needed restraint. He needed…skin. Yes, that. He simply had to have Mason’s
skin against his when they kissed this time. He slipped his fingers from
Mason’s, moved them to the ragged hem and yanked the shirt over Mason’s head. So
perfect. Mase had more muscle development than he would have expected. The
sight of those sleek muscles and Mason’s startled gasp went straight to his
cock. The beast liked that submissive sound a lot.

Okay, then. Game on. He dropped the shirt, grabbed Mason
behind at the back of the head and mashed their mouths together. Like the kiss
in the shop, the thrill of it, the illicitness
of it, hit like a fist. Mason had an incredible mouth. A dirty mouth, made for
sex. In seconds, their tongues were half-way down each other’s throats. Randy
tried not to be so rough, but the way Mason responded when he was…he didn’t
hold back. Maybe he couldn’t. It
wasn’t in his nature.

Randy fisted a handful of
Mason’s hair and yanked his head back to get at his throat. Mason moaned as he kissed
and nipped the skin along his jaw and nibbled down the more tender skin below
his ear. Fuck—nothing beat that clean skin taste. Best thing ever. Mason kept
moaning as Randy sucked in a patch of skin, turned it into a hickey and then
grazed the red spot with his teeth when he released him.

All that moaning meant Mason
liked what he was doing, right?

Now that he’d caught his
breath, Randy went back to Mason’s mouth for more. While they kissed and their
tongues danced and dueled, Randy ran his hands over every inch of skin he could
reach, even using the tips of the fingers on his broken arm. The rough plaster scraped
over Mason’s bare back, but damn it, he couldn’t get enough. Curse that fucking
broken arm to hell!

Randy tore his mouth from
Mason’s. Had Mason really said yes? He could really have this? He searched his
eyes and found the confirmation he needed. Now that he had permission, he
grabbed Mason’s upper arm and dragged him down onto the mattress. Mason grunted
when he landed on top, but he’d managed to catch most of his weight with a knee
and his forearm, so he didn’t exactly crush him, but... “Sorry.”

“Asshole,” Mason gasped.

True, but he’d make it up
to him. Randy pushed up onto his knees and reached for the waistband of Mason’s
pajama bottoms. His fingertips slid easily underneath. What the hell was this slinky
stuff? The pants were fashioned from some ridiculously thin fabric that hid
nothing. In fact, it enhanced the shape of the stiff length of cock straining
underneath.

Fuck. Mason was so
beautiful just looking at him made Randy’s heart leap.

And the way Mason was
looking back at him…

“I want you naked.” Preferably
right fucking now. When he grabbed the waistband and tugged the delicate material
down, something ripped. Loudly. Shit. He’d taken out the side seam.

Goddamn it, why did he
have to have a broken arm now, of all times?

Not that Mason seemed to
mind. In fact, he helped by lifting his ass. What the hell? The expensive
bottoms were wrecked now anyway, so Randy yanked them down over Mason’s hips
and tore the tissue-thin silk down to the knee. Randy’s dick throbbed
impatiently. Something about the sound of ripping fabric was supremely arousing.
Satisfying. He peeled the ruined pant legs over Mason’s feet, threw them into
the dark, and left Mason stark naked on his bed.

Well, well. Guess that
saying about skinny guys having long dicks was true. “Nice, Novak. Good thing I
have no gag reflex whatsoever.” Like everything else about him, Mason had a
beautiful cock too. But… “Mine’s bigger.” What could he say? They’d always been
competitive.

“I’ll prove it to you.”
He slid the zipper down and freed the beast. He’d been hard for so long and was
still so aroused, it burst out from beneath the flaps and bounced back against
his stomach with an audible slap.

Mason’s eyes bulged.
“Jesus Christ,” Mason sputtered.

Randy chuckled and ran
his hand up the inside of Mason’s thigh. “Like it?” Yeah, he did. He even licked
his lips. “I can’t wait to make you come.”

“You talk the talk,
Porterhouse…” Mason’s breath hitched, then he started to finish that sassy reply,
but he wasn’t fast enough. Randy took the hard, silky length of Mason’s cock in
his fist and gave it a firm stroke from root to tip. Mason jerked, and his back
curled up from the mattress. His hips thrust up, driving another stroke across his
calloused palm.

Randy tore his gaze from
the delightful sight of Mason’s cock head trapped and leaking inside his hand, and
switched it to his face. Oh, man. Eyes closed, mouth open and lips wet. Any gay
man would take that as an invitation to stick a cock that waiting hole, but Randy
wanted to be kissing Mason when he came—when they both came. “Help me get my
jeans off.”

Mason groaned with
discontent when Randy let his cock slip from his fingers, but he eagerly rose
up and reached for Randy’s jeans. “I
don’t even know how you fit in these,” Mason mumbled.

“I’m not always this
hard.” It took only seconds of coordinated pawing before they had Randy as
naked as Mason. Once freed from the tight confines of the jeans, Randy shoved
Mason back down onto the mattress and followed him there, his large body covering
every inch of Mason’s. They twined their legs together. Randy attacked Mason’s
mouth with his own, kissing and sucking his lips.

After a bit of a
struggle, Mason managed to squeeze a hand between their writhing bodies. “Yeah,
grab it,” Randy encouraged. “Jack me off while I do you.” He couldn’t wait to
feel Mason’s hand on him. To allow Mason better access, he leaned to the side,
letting his cast bear the brunt of his weight. The surgical site didn’t like the
angle, but no fresh pain flared up to dampen his enthusiasm lower down. Like
they were meant to be together, Randy got a grip on Mason’s cock just as Mason
found his.

“Fuck, yeah.” Randy
groaned as Mason began working the thick length of his shaft. The groans
sounded like he’d watched too many porno's, but Mason effortlessly pulled every
sound out him, willingly or not. His mind couldn’t hold onto any real words anyway
as Mason worked him into a state of overwhelming pleasure, one practiced stroke
after another. His touch was a little too light, but his expertise more than
made up for it.

Matching Mason’s pace,
Randy jacked Mason in return. Probably rougher than Mason liked, since he
winced once or twice as he panted and moaned and angled his hips for more hand
room. He squirmed impatiently, digging his heels into the tangle of blankets,
trying to gain more traction.

“What do you need, Mase?”
He had to ask, because he was going to shoot any second and he had to take care
of Mase first. “Do you need my mouth?”

“Oh, god,” Mason cried.

So close, but he still
held back, riding every stroke Randy gave him and fighting the inexorable pull
of orgasm. What a competitive little bastard. He was doing it on purpose. “Or maybe
you just need me to flip you over and fuck you?” As he said it, thought it, Randy started to climax, the
image of Mason’s tight hole stretching around his cock sending him instantly over
the edge.

So much pleasure!

So good, so good, so
good…

He couldn’t keep his eyes
open. As much as he wanted to watch Mason come, because he’d finally given it
up, and nosily too, Randy couldn’t. The climax was too intense. Instead, he tried
to concentrate on Mason’s sexy, gasping moans as he spilled. Warm, wet cum slicked their fingers. The slippery slide extended Randy’s orgasm an obscene
length of time.

But his body couldn’t
keep it up forever.

As the waves slowed and his
body quit jerking, he thrust his tongue into Mason’s mouth and smothered his
loud moans. Because he liked it himself, Randy added a twisting jerk to the end
of each stroke, just under the flared head of Mason’s cock. Mason liked that trick too, and cried out
as Randy proceed to milk out of every drop of cum he had in him.

Randy’s arm gave out
around the same time as his climax did. He slumped, landing heavily on Mason,
crushing him into the mattress. Good thing Mason was actually more solid than
he looked. Since Randy could still hear Mason’s ragged breaths, he probably
wasn’t squashing him too badly.

Maybe.

But he didn’t want to
move. Not ever.

When Mason started to fight
for space, Randy slid off him and onto his side, capturing Mason’s mouth with a
dirty kiss along the way. But he didn’t want to let him go. Didn’t want any
emotional distance slither in between them. He hooked his cast around Mason’s
back and dragged them together, chest to chest.

“Don’t think this means I
like you, or anything,” Mason muttered.

“Nah, of course not.” But
it was start. He hoped. Randy kissed him again, gently, since the storm of lust
had passed, and Mason responded. Ignoring the sticky mess cooling on his stomach,
Randy laid his head on the mattress and listened to Mason’s heat beat. Minutes
passed that way, with Mason pressed against him, his head in the crook of
Randy’s neck.

Perfect minutes.

He must have dozed off,
for when he next opened his eyes, Mason was no longer pressed up against him. The
sun had risen and the birds were making a god-almighty racket outside,
apparently squabbling over worms in the garden.

Randy stretched out and
adjusted the position of the annoying cast. His arm ached ferociously, all the
way to his fingertips. What had he fucked up now? He shifted and moved his
forearm to the empty space between him and Mason. Something must be wrong with the
blasted thing. But at that moment, he didn’t give a fuck.

Because Mason kissed him.

Did a whole lot more than
just kiss him, actually. Best orgasm he’d ever had.

From across the gap in
the mattress, Mason shifted. Randy sensed the exact moment he woke. He rolled to
face Randy and cracked opened his gorgeous sapphire eyes. Randy would never get
tired of looking into those eyes. “I can’t believe I fell asleep,” he said in a
soft, sleepy voice.

That was it? No regretful,
I can’t believe we jerked each other off,
what the fuck was I thinking? The relief was so great, it actually made Randy’s
arm throb less. “It was all that creeping around in the middle of the night.”

Mason scowled. “It was
not! And I wasn’t creeping. I was worried about you.”

Randy’s heart fluttered.
Someone on this godforsaken planet had actually worried about him? “I don’t
know why. I’m fine. My arm hurts like a son of a bitch, but other than that, I feel
great.” Who wouldn’t after getting off like that? “Maybe it was me giving you such
a good orgasm.”

“God, you’re so full of
yourself.”

“You can be full of me
anytime you want. Just ask.” Randy slid over, erasing the distance between
them.

“Fuck off, you arrogant asshole.”

Mason tried shoving him
away, but it was all for show. He didn’t protest when Randy leaned in and
rubbed his lips across Mason’s. He even allowed a quick kiss. “It was good
though, right? With us?”

Mason sighed. “Yeah, it
was good.” Mason wrestled his hand out from under the sheet and caressed
Randy’s cheek with the back of his fingers. “But—”

“No regrets, Mase! You
said yes. I asked.”

“I don’t regret it.” He
gave him a slow, shy smile. “Not at all. I’m just not…I’m not in a good place
right now.”

No kidding. That douche bag
Richard had obviously done one hell of a number on Mason. He was a shadow of
the man he used to be. “You want me to go beat the shit out him for you?”

Mason barked out a short
laugh. “Can I take a rain check on that?”

“Just say the word. I
never liked him. I knew he’d fuck you over eventually.”

“Yeah, well, I was stupid
enough to let him.” He trailed his fingers back down Randy’s cheek then tucked
his hand back under the sheet. “But I’m still, I don’t know, getting over it I
guess. We were together a long time.”

Fair enough.

“I can’t do it.” He
sighed. “I can’t get into anything with you.” Mason looked into his eyes. So
blue, like the summer sky right before the sun set. “I have nothing left to give
anyone.”

Okay, that settled it. He
was going to pummel the shit out Richard—please don’t call me Rick ‘cause I’m a
big douche—first chance he got. And he was damn well going to try and win Mason
over before some other guy stole him away once he put himself was back on the
market. His plan didn’t even need to be complicated. Mason just needed someone
he could trust. Someone honest. A man who could keep his dick in his pants and
only take it out at home. He just needed to realize that Randy was the right man
for him. “How about we just have a summer fling then?”

“A what?” Mason sat up.
“A fling? Did you just actually say fling?”

“What if I did?” God,
wasn’t like he’d asked the guy to run off to Vegas and marry him or something.
“I’m single. You’re single. I’m off for the summer and you’re not doing
anything except painting the house as far as I can tell.”

“But a fling?”

Apparently, he still
needed some convincing. “No strings attached. Just you and me doing some fun
stuff together during the day, and then having sweaty man-on-man sex all night
long.”

“You’re out of your
fucking mind, Porterhouse.”

“No one needs to know.”

“I don’t care who knows!”

“Then let’s go for it.” Mason
was weakening. “I’ll be good to you.”

“Yeah, right.”

“You know you can trust
me.” They’d had their squabbles. They’d wrestled, traded jabs along with games,
books and the flu, called each other names, got on each other’s nerves time and
again, but Randy had never once broken his word to him. “One word, Mase. Yes,
or no.”

It wasn’t an ultimatum.
It was a choice, and Mason had to be the one to make it. There’d never be
anyone else for Randy, so that part of the deal was done. He trusted no one
else. Would never let anyone else in.

Mason huffed and flumped
back down on the mattress. He turned, presenting Randy with his long, naked
back. Offered up like that, Randy ran his hand down Mason’s spine. At the swell
of Mason’s ass, he splayed his fingers. A perfect handful.

About Me

I'm a writer of erotic paranormal romance (GLBT), a mother of two and servant to a dog and a pair of demanding cats. I'd love to stay home all day and either write novels or read them, but alas, the Evil Day Job keeps me busy (and with a roof over my head). Since I'm scared to touch my website (and my web manager thanks me) I've created this blog to provide updates on my Works In Progress.